


Radix Malorum

by Arithanas



Series: Love Demands Sacrifices [10]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Gen, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 1637, Orleans. <i>Radix malorum est cupiditas</i>, a Bible quotation. Athos never doubt the Sacred Scripture, but it's Latin version didn't seem so faithful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radix Malorum

**Author's Note:**

> My most deep gratitude to Lady Wallace, who kindly beta'ed this one.

Raoul was seated at the withers and Athos guided the horse to the building of the university of Orleans, enjoying the childish delight of the little man in front of him. The whole travel had been an adventure but they were in the city at last, and right on time. He tried to keep his mind focused in the task at hand, but Raoul's elated cries made all his effort pointless. Grimaud, behind them, was bored and made it real clear with his obvious yawns.

Ignorance was a bliss, indeed.

Once they reached the university premises Athos alighted and picked up his boy who was sporting new and clean clothes. The cost in Blois was high enough but here it would be even higher, so Athos was extremely careful in handling the boy, changing his clothes now would be prohibitive.

"Is _M. le Comte_ ready to tell me why are we here?" Raoul asked standing as tall as his three feet allowed him. Raoul was extremely happy to leave Bragelonne behind, he even remembered to call Athos by his title.

"I intend to make you a very special gift, Raoul," Athos explained, checking his ward's attire was correct, from the small riding boots to the new, small velvet cap over about his joyful face, "but we need to talk to a doctor before you can enjoy it."

"A doctor? I don't need no doctor!" Raoul shifted from happiness to suspicion to concern. "I'm fine!"

"Yes, you are fine, Raoul, but..."

Athos couldn't deliver the well thought-speech he was saving to explain Raoul this trip to Orleans. The boy clutched his breeches and buried his face on his thigh, sobbing with heart-wrenching distress. The cheap pheasant feather described an erratic pattern with each weepy gasp of the boy. With a worried look, Athos gazed around them, wishing no one had noticed this strange behavior, but his luck kept being as bad as ten years ago and people was already commenting about it. He tore Raoul from his clothes very gently and put a knee on the soil to see him in the eye.

"What is it, Raoul?" he asked in a whisper, trying to make this scene less shameful, if that was possible.

"You! _Pa_... you need a doctor!"

"Raoul, please, hold yourself," Athos pleaded, drawing his handkerchief to wipe away this childish tears. "I'm fine! We need to see a _law_ doctor," he tried to give the word some emphasis, "and do me the favor of calling me _M. le Comte_."

"Law doctor?" Raoul looked up at his godfather, trying to comprehend his words.

"Yes, a _law_ doctor!" Athos took the opportunity to make his woebegone face clean. The last thing he needed was that he gave the impression of an ill-treated child. "I want you to be a real viscount, so a doctor needs to see you..."

"An interesting project, Olivier," a harsh voice came from behind him while a shadow felt over his back, "I'll gladly hear all about it."

 _Oh, you will..._ Athos promised himself as he recovered his vertical.

The man was his cousin, once called just Monsieur de Connigis, was now the head of the family and his rich doublet full of jewels and mother-of-pearl buttons seemed to proclaim that. Raoul, impressed—and a little scared— for that apparel, came to seek refuge behind his legs, just like he did when he was presented to Monsieur. Athos shook his head and heaved a sigh, this lad needed to travel around more often.

"Could you please alight so I can present you to Raoul, cousin?" Athos asked with perfectly cold blood.

His scornful smile was an insult but Athos had gambled enough in Paris to raise the bet beyond his means, besides he knew he had the upper hand here. With gentleness and good manners, Athos made some force on Raoul and made him face this new and scary adult.

"Raoul, allow me to present you _Monsieur le_ baron _de Brantôme_. "

"I am delighted," the lad managed to stutter while he took off his velvet cap.

"The pleasure is..." Brantôme said, making an excessive reverence to the boy. His voice wavered and his knees wobbled. "...mine?"

Athos knew him since they were Raoul's age and height, he knew his cousin couldn't resist mockery at Olivier's expenses. That's why he fell on the snare so easily and gave his cousin the petty pleasure to see him on his knees, his mouth agape, searching in Raoul's face the blatant familiar resemblance.

" _Pa_..." Raoul called out, he was pawing the ground like an upset colt. He noticed his mistake and tried to correct it while fingering his codpiece. "Pardon me. I need..."

"Grimaud, take care of Raoul," Athos commanded, sporting a little smirk.

"I see you keep this nit-wit by your side," Brantôme said, unable to resist the opportunity to make a remark about his valet.

Scorn is the cross loyal servants had to bear. Grimaud behaved at the height of the circumstances and just made a little reverence before taking Raoul's hand and guide him to the side of the building.

"He provides service just the way I like."

"I wonder..."

"Don't even try," Athos stopped him, seeing how Raoul dragged the servant, spurred by his urge.

"That boy, Olivier, reeks of family a league away."

"I noticed, Henri." Athos knew the time had come, "That's why I want to keep him."

Brantôme shook his head, in evident disapproval: "The black sheep to the end, aren't you?"

"I want to keep the boy," Athos adjusted his cuffs nonchalantly, "not the blame."

"I want to meet the moron who would help you in that purpose."

"I'm seeing him right now."

Brantôme looked at him in disbelief.

"You were living in Paris in 1633, weren't you?" Athos continued, oblivious of that gaze.

"Wherefore you want to know?"

"Because I abode there in the same date, and the fastest way to Toulouse it is the post trail. I followed the post trail, did you?"

"It would be insanity if I didn't. We had too little time to reach Toulouse."

"And you passed by Limoges, didn't you?"

"You must pass by Limoges if you are following the post trail. Olivier, I find your games tiresome."

"It's not a game, I just remind your second son was studying in _Chapelle Saint-Aurélien_ at that date. Congratulations for his appointment, Henri!"

"Thank you, who told you?"

"Why? Jacques! You know, that old friend who is now the priest in Roche-l'Abeille."

"Ah... _your_ friend. What does all of this have to do with the boy?"

"I'll come to my point when the time is due. In 1633, your heir was in Brantôme."

"Managing my affairs, as you seem to know very well."

"Please, thank your mother and her prodigious memory," Athos said, finally returning him that mocking reverence. "Shall we enter?"

"What for? If you are not going to recognize this ba..."

Athos didn't allowed him to finish that insult, his hand was in his hilt, the weapon seemed to spring spontaneously from its scabbard to his hand. Five good inches were out as a tacit threat.

"If this _filius nullius_ (1) is your son, I'll try to make the family understand, Olivier..."

"He is not my son," Athos didn't expect those simple words hurt so much, but they were necessary. "You know I'll never touch a woman, as everybody who ever knew me could attest."

" _Certum est, quia impossibile!_ (2)"

"Prove it," the sound of the sword being sheathed in the scabbard empathized the dare. "The boy was found in la Roche-l'Abeille. Any of _your_ sons could be the father."

Athos let the information sink into his cousin's brain. The negotiation of consequences was not the most honorable road to travel, but Henri was the only one who could further his cause and to gag him was the only way to ensure no one could thwart Raoul's future. Additionally, if his lie had even a slight possibility to be proven true, Henri would be another support for the boy.

" _Beati possidentes_ (3)," Henri de Brantôme admitted his defeat with a scowl, "Well played, cousin."

Athos tipped his hat and raised his hand to signal Grimaud they must enter the building.

...

Athos had planned to spend the afternoon in silent, devout prayer, as a way of thanking the Heavens because he got his way in this affair, but Raoul had other plans. The child followed the adult like a meek lamb, but the dark and Gothic Orleans cathedral was filled to the top with saints and virgins and martyrs exposing their wounds in vivid colors. And the damned stained glass with Joan's story... Too much for a young one to see and do not ask, and Raoul was a curious child. Athos tried to explain to him and then reduce him to silent reverence but when the lad realized the man on the cross and the baby in his mother's arms were the same person, he could barely keep still or silent. He had to change his plans, and he could repay the Good Lord later that night.

So, while he stripped Raoul from his ceremonial attire and wrapped him in his good play clothes, Grimaud was sent to procure them some food. They should spend sometime praising the Lord in the great temple He made with His own power for His own Eternal Glory. Raoul was used to his godfather's ways and the change of clothes could only mean he was to be able to call him 'pa' and behave like a child again; and he did it wholeheartedly, clinging to Athos collar and using his legs to grip his waist.

"Are we going to play?" he asked watching sideways before kissing Athos' jowl.

"We are going to swim, and to eat _al fresco_ ," Athos' replied, carrying his loving ward on his hip and taking him out of the cathedral. "Maybe I could give you your first fencing lesson, Raoul."

"I have not a sword," Raoul protested, patting Athos' sword's pommel.

" _Deus providebit_ (4)."

"The-us-probe-what?"

"Please, remember me to teach you Latin," Athos pleaded, hoisting Raoul over the withers.

Raoul's giggles made Athos smile, that paternal gesture seemed to be ingrained in his face forever. Athos saddled himself and waited until he saw Grimaud with a heavy basket; they were ready for the expedition. His dark heavy horse neighed and people knew someone was about to trod the street on horse back, and they started their way to the banks of the Loire.

They crossed the _Point Neuf_ and found a place to tie up Emir and the bad hack Grimaud was riding, he made a mental note to find him a better horse.

Raoul ran to spray a tree as soon as he was left on the floor, that boy was breeched the last Spring and he was still having troubles to hold his water. Athos smiled again, but this time it was a sad one, Raoul was getting more and more independent and his father found himself both proud of this little man and yearning for the little boy who clung to his clothes not so long ago.

Time was always too short...

Mocking himself for those longings, Athos started to shed out his doublet, a good dip in the cold water could clear his head from those fantasies. Raoul heed his cue with a joyous glee and, in a blink, he was nude as the day he was born, he always liked to be _au naturel_ , his clothes were scattered haphazardly behind him. Someday Athos had to talk the boy about his due decorum, but right now he was more worried about the churning waters of the Loire.

"Wait for me, Raoul!" Athos instructed, folding his breeches and taking of his hose. The rest of his clothes were over Emir's saddle.

Grimaud was busy, picking up Raoul's clothes and grunting his glee at that little boy who splashed water over his face, as if a summer dip in the Loire was a rare occurrence. Athos, in his shirt, dipped in the water slowly to have time to throw his last garment at the riverbank and then he extended his arms towards the child who took a run-up and dove with a great splash of water. Athos fished him out and let him splash at ease.

"I was so hot!" Raoul exclaimed when he finished to sprinkle water like a priest on Holy Saturday. "The good clothes made me all sweaty."

"Those hot clothes suit you just fine," Athos commented and then dipped his head to remove the sweat from his own brow.

"I don't like to be hot," Raoul protested, but his complaint was not heeded; his godfather was otherwise engaged with his own relaxation. As usual when he felt neglected he thought of pulling Athos' clothes, but he found himself bereft of resources, and he didn't dare to jerk his godfather's hair. "I want to swim!"

With a thrust Raoul dived into the river and dog paddled without a set direction, as he was used to do at Bragelonne. Athos felt the kick and raise to the surface, startled and worried for the boy, this part of the Loire had stronger currents and if he distracted his eyes from Raoul he risked to lose him down the stream. The boy noticed his appearance and paddled towards him, splashing with childish glee.

"Stay by the river shore, Raoul," Athos said, extending his hand to make him come closer.

"Why?" The boy asked and shook his head to remove his wet locks from his face.

"Because it's safer," Athos replied. He helped the boy to knot his long hair with an absent gesture while his eyes surveyed the camp, the horses where drinking water and Grimaud had set aside his basket in a cool spot and was idling his time under the shadow of a big willow. "Grimaud!"

Grimaud raised his hand to heed the signal which informed him his master wanted him to be in the water, and he complied hurriedly, kicking his shoes before getting his clothes completely drenched in river water —since his master gave him no time to get rid of them— Athos saw him waddle in the liquid environment and then placed his precious child in his arms.

"I'm going to the other riverbank," Athos informed him, looking him in the eye to stress his order: "Watch him!"

Athos was a good swimmer, and the Loire was always a good challenge. The young viscount clapped his hands in delight at seeing his godfather starting off his swim with the vigorous movements from his arms; the water around them made waves and Raoul escaped from Grimaud's arms to grab his father's horse's reins which he used to swing over the water. The temperamental stallion was not in the mood to care about that small creature and sunk him in the river as the beast tried to take a sip.

...

A couple of riders passed over the _Point Neuf_ ; these two travelers, for the bulk on their horses's hindquarters resembled suspiciously to a valise, marched with a panache that could rival with a peacock; the first of them sported a flamboyant doublet covered with eye-catching sequins while his companion was dressed with a magnificent and colorful livery.

"M. du Vallon, dare I to repeat that this trip could be fruitless?" the second man said with a tone of deference worthy of a duke.

The man addressed this way just raised his mighty shoulders, that gesture could never be subtle in a gentleman of his size

"I told you that there is not certainty your commendable friend would be at home!"

"And I told you, Mousqueton," M. du Vallon replied, his features proclaimed his annoyance, "that even if we are to camp at his door, we are going to see Bragelonne."

"Then there is no rush and we can spend a night in this wonderful city," Mousqueton protested and opened his arms to signal Orleans, but then his eyes caught an unusual spectacle in the river.

"Blois is also a wonderful city, almost a royal one!" was the quick retort, he waited for a reply but when that failed to come he stopped his steed. "Mousqueton?"

As his servant didn't answer he turned around to know what was happening. His valet had stopped his mount and his eyes were glued in the middle of the stream. A lone figure was challenging the current vigorously. Porthos set his horse next to Mousqueton's.

"A brave man, master," Mousqueton said with the eyes of a man who had seen a good deal of bravado.

"I only know a man crazy enough to believe he could have his own way with a river."

Mousqueton was nodding his agreement when his master hoisted him from his saddle with a mighty pull.

"Spit it out!"

"Master… err…" Mousqueton knew he couldn't admit he knew they were in Orleans, but lying didn't seem to be the best bet, "it could be possible… I wasn't even sure… Grimaud could warn me I shouldn't write to him around these dates…"

"Let's ask that scrawny man," Porthos said, letting him go and signaling a thin figure next to the riverside; he seemed to be guarding a couple of mounts, "because he looks a lot like _your_ commendable friend, knave."

...

Grimaud chuckled to himself and threw his breeches to dry land, the horse keep drinking the fresh water until he rose his big head with a frightened neigh. Raoul's foot got a hold on the bit and used it like a stirrup. Soon, the scared horse found himself eye to eye with the mischievous child who straddled his nose and dripped water over his nares.

"Horsey!" Raoul exclaimed, hugging that enormous bestial face.

With with a cool head, the servant snatched the reins just in time because Emir was a temperamental stud. As was to be expected, the beast shook off the unwanted weight from his snout and Raoul fell to the water amidst delighted cries of joy. Grimaud let him splash about a little before fishing him out, and Raoul climbed onto his chest, still thrilled by his short airborne trip.

"Again! " Raoul exclaimed with joy, securing his place with his legs around Grimaud's torso, trying to clap his hands at the same time, "Let's do it again! Ag-!"

"Huh?" Grimaud asked when this boisterous boy fell silent suddenly.

"A man," Raoul explained with an intrigued expression. "There!"

The servant turned around and clutched the child to his breast, his first concern was to protect the child and his mind was frantically wondering what he would do in this semi-naked state. Then, he saw the man in question with his unmistakable fashion sense and an askew smile appeared on his face.

"Friend," he informed patting Raoul's back. "Good friend!"

"I knew I knew that skinny ass!" Porthos boomed, starting to shed his doublet; it was far to expensive to risk it in the river.

Grimaud just keep his smile and made a reverence and he managed to do it with a certain grace in spite of being burdened with the child's weight.

"And who's the lad?" Porthos demanded, kicking his boots to the clearing.

The expression in Grimaud's face became stern, and that simple gesture proclaimed that his lips were sealed. Raoul peered at Porthos with curiosity, he was not used to seeing Grimaud questioned and this strange man was imposing for his volume and loud voice. Porthos trod into the water and extended his arms.

"Hand him over, Grimaud," Porthos commanded with a smile, "I'm not gonna eat him."

Reluctantly, Grimaud let him carry the boy, his gesture was still annoyed and his eyes searched the riverside. Mousqueton was there, silent as a mouse, picking up Grimaud's pants and was looking at his friend with ashamed eyes. The Breton threatened him with a closed fist, suspecting his betrayal.

"It's not his fault, Grimaud," Porthos said, keeping Raoul at arms' length, his eyes surveyed every trait in that boyish face. "Who are you, boy?"

"I don't speak to strangers," Raoul proclaimed, crossing his arms and glaring at him.

"I'm not a stranger," Porthos replied with a smile, that boy glared just like Athos. "I'm M. du Vallon, and Grimaud said I'm a friend."

Raoul cast a glance to Grimaud and the servant nodded unenthusiastically.

"I'm Raoul," the boy answered now that the old retainer vouched for this man.

"Good. Nice name," Porthos hugged the boy. "You are a fine lad, Raoul. Would you tell me why are you in Orleans?"

Grimaud growled, Raoul was a naive boy and he could spill his master's secrets easily. Porthos heard him and pet the boy's hair.

"I don't know," Raoul said with a smile, "A man asked me if I wanted to live with _M. le Comte_ , I said yes, then the man spoke funny and I tried not to laugh. And he asked many things then he stopped being funny and started to be boring."

"So, you had a busy day. Where is _M. le Comte_?"

Raoul pointed to the small figure at the other side of the river.

"I think I better pay him my respects," Porthos noticed the servant's upset look and almost smiled when he handed him the boy. "Stay with Grimaud," he ordered taking his shirt off and handing it to his valet who was in his shirtsleeves, "he needs to introduce you to his friend Mousqueton."

"You have a friend?" Raoul asked Grimaud in disbelief while Porthos started to swim.

The answer was a nod, a little more firm than the latter. The so called friend entered the river in his shirt and greeted his college with a nervous stance. Grimaud just grumbled while pointing him to Raoul.

"My respects, young Master Raoul," Mousqueton greeted the boy like he was an adult, then he tried to talk to his compeer. "I put your breeches up to dry."

Grimaud didn't answer, his face was set in an annoyed grimace.

"I didn't say nothing, Grimaud," Mousqueton tried to justify their presence in the city, "you know my master: he got the idea to visit your master and there was nothing I could do to stop him!"

"God's will," Grimaud muttered, his eyes following the great bulk of Porthos' figure gliding in the water.

"Weren't you two friends?" Raoul asked, climbing to Grimaud's shoulders.

...

Athos reached the southern river shore and stretched his back. He wasn't as good as he once was and it was good there is only him to see how tiring was that short race against himself. Out of habit he checked the other side to the river, trying to see how Raoul and Grimaud were faring and the sight of two human figures —one of them keeping his naked boy out of the water— by their side prompted to return without taking a respite.

He was almost at the other shore when he noticed a body swimming in his general direction, and the size of this person was pushing a good deal of water against him. There were only a small number of people in all France who could have the mass to do that and that prompted him to take a better look of that unknown swimmer. Porthos noticed the return of the water, there was an obstacle ahead and he tried to peer around him.

"Porthos?" Athos asked, unable to believe that wet face was his friend.

"Athos!" Porthos exclaimed, rising from the water like the mighty Glaucus, his great arms around Athos chest.

"What are you doing _here_?" Both of them shouted at the same time.

"I came to visit you, you dimwit!" Porthos said clapping his hand on Athos shoulder.

"I told you to wait for another year, thickhead!"

"Pooh! You knew my apartment in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, Bragelonne couldn't be worst!"

"Your wife?"

"At home, too hot for her!"

Raoul's voice, shrieking with laughter, stopped the interrogation. Athos gave a glance to the river shore and found himself in front of Mousqueton's stunned face, the cryptic gaze of Grimaud, and Raoul splitting his sides while trying to maintain the balance over the slight frame of his servant.

"I missed you, Porthos, a lot," Athos said, his hands on Porthos' shoulders, his voice was calm and sensible, "but, next time, could we refrain from rubbing our naked bodies together in front of the child?"

Raoul renewed his laughs when he saw his new friend pushing away his godfather with a great splash of water.

**Author's Note:**

> **...est cupiditas**
> 
>  
> 
> (1) filius nullius: Nobody's son.  
> (2) Certum est, quia impossibile: It is certain, because it is impossible.  
> (3) Beati possidentes: Blessed are those who possess or possession is nine points of the law.  
> (4) Deus providebit : God will provide.


End file.
